New Beginning
by Mel88
Summary: But saving a life? There was power in that. Power enough to redirect a meandering existence and change the course of a war.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: First, a huge thank you to my beta, Evan! Secondly, this piece was written for Round Two of the Dramione Remix on LiveJournal. It was inspired by Peter and Wendy from J.M. Barrie's (and, yes, Disney's) "Peter Pan." And - best of all - it received a Mod's Choice award! Yay!

**Part One**

This wasn't Draco's first battle.

His first had been at Hogwarts at the end of what should have been a trying yet productive seventh year. The plan was to master Potions, Transfigurations, Charms, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy, and to finally nail down the youngest Greengrass girl as his future bride. His quality of life at Hogwarts seemed to degrade year by year, and he had wondered later why he thought seventh year would be any different. Instead of preparing for his N.E.W.T.s, Draco had spent most of his time under the Carrows's wands, learning how to resist the Imperius Curse, swallow the pain from the Cruciatus, and stare unflinchingly at the sight of his own blood. Forget about Greengrass's stares – even his closest friends, or the closest people he had to friends, could hardly bear to look him in the eye.

It was fair to say that Draco's seventh year had hardened him. Nothing but that hardening could have allowed him to take his first life.

The life of Luna Lovegood.

Draco remembered everything about that battle. The Quidditch Pitch had been all but destroyed – the stands burned down to nothing more than smoldering piles of memory and the smooth, meticulously landscaped grass gouged by curses. Only the hoops had remained, shrouded by smoke and ash. The air had been thick with it, burning the back of his throat upon each inhale. It was so dense that he couldn't see six inches in front of his own face.

She had come at him from the left. She had looked terrified and out of breath, clearly running from something. Her yellow hair streamed behind her, bright even amid the smoke. She hadn't noticed him. He raised his wand regardless and let fly the curse that ended her life in a simple flash of green light.

She had dropped like a stone, and Draco had fallen with her.

Three years later found him still waiting to hit bottom.

Maybe tonight would bring the blessed end.

The Dark Lord had sent them to these cursed Albanian woods to protect something. He never said what it was, but Draco had heard the rumors. Something in these woods was more powerful than the Dark Lord himself. The other Death Eaters in his squad had used the word 'weapon,' but Draco doubted that. The last 'weapon' the Dark Lord wanted was nothing more than a prophecy, and he had only sent a small, albeit powerful group of Death Eaters to retrieve it. Whatever was in these woods was obviously much more important than what had been in the Department of Mysteries. Why else would the Order want it? And why else would he have deployed every Death Eater, werewolf, and self-serving wand-bearer out here to protect it?

Draco's team, composed of young, hotheaded wizards, had been deployed to the fringes of the battle, just inside the anti-Apparition wards. He had ditched the group as soon as he could, making his way into the belly of the battle. He wanted to find what was hidden for himself. He was tired of being used, of watching his father and mother abused not at the hand of the Dark Lord, but at the wands of his lessers. Lessers that were once his family's iown/i subordinates. If there was anything that could get him out of this mess, it was what the Dark Lord wanted to keep hidden. Draco intended to expose it as soon as he could and use it as leverage for his family's escape.

It didn't work. He had no sooner reached the heart of the fray than he heard the Dark Lord's piercing scream, and a voice that sounded like Potter's yelling for them all to run.

Draco had listened – it was foolish not to – but now he was lost. Every so often, he heard footsteps at his back, but the quick glances he sent over his shoulder showed only more forest. The tree trunks were thin but densely packed, and there was more than enough scrub to fill in the spaces between. A witch or wizard could hide behind one easily, and brandished wands looked like twigs to someone running full tilt.

The only thing that kept Draco from tromping around in the brush himself was the old deer trail he had the good fortune to stumble upon. He could only hope it was leading him to the anti-Apparation boundary and not circling him back to the battle.

He took his eyes away from the trail for a moment to look at the sky. He couldn't see much of it through the canopy, but it was enough to make him swear. The sun was setting. It was autumn, and darkness would fall sooner than later in the dense wood. He'd either have to stop or use his wand to light his way. The latter option was completely out – he was asking to be cursed that way. However, stopping would give whoever was pursuing him the chance to catch up.

He couldn't run forever. Already, the adrenaline of battle was wearing off. His thighs and calves burned, and he fought for each lung-full of oxygen.

The decision was taken out of his hands, however, as the trees thinned then terminated at the edge of a steep ravine. He gasped and skidded to a stop, barely three steps from taking what promised to be a very painful tumble through scrub, nettles, and rocks. To the right was more ravine and to the left was a sheer rock face, impossible to scale vertically or horizontally.

He stood panting for a moment, considering his options. It was a moment too long; his pursuer had caught up. The footsteps were clear now, as were exhales so loud that they were nearly sobs. Draco set his jaw and turned, wand drawn. If he had to take a life in order to preserve his own, he would.

Seconds later, bursting through the trees and looking like she had been through hell and back, was a witch it took him only seconds to identify.

Hermione Granger.

She stopped.

Draco hesitated.

So did she.

Then her eyes hardened. Her fingers stiffened around the handle of her wand, and she inhaled.

Suddenly, everything became clearer. Every detail was sharp and distinct, every color too vivid for the amount of sunlight streaming through the trees. She was covered in mud and gore. Great splashes of blood stained the sleeves of her jumper and the legs of her denims. Her face was dripping with it, too, from shallow scrapes on her cheek, chin, and brow. Her wild hair was somehow redder than he remembered, more chestnut than brown, and her eyes shone like dark amber.

Strange… Draco sincerely hated to kill her.

Before he could utter the last two words Hermione would ever hear, the world exploded.

Draco flew – _soared_ – and, with giddy wonder, could not remember the last time he felt so free. Then the ground rushed up to meet him and the freedom turned into pain. He bounced, soared again, then lost his wind as his body slammed against the hard-packed earth. He rebounded once more and rolled the rest of the way down the ravine. When he finally came to a stop, it was at the base of a large boulder.

The pain in his back and neck was all that kept him from slipping into unconsciousness. He forced himself to breathe, open his eyes, wiggle his fingers and toes, and sit up. No sooner had he righted himself than did a terrible wave of nausea hunch him right back over. He vomited what little remained of his lunch onto the grass.

It was then that Draco realized that he did not hear the telltale splatter. In fact, he couldn't hear anything. Slowly, he brought his fingers to his ear. There was pain. Where _wasn't _there pain? When he brought his fingers back, they were bloody. He checked the other ear and swore. Whatever had sent him flying had also burst his eardrums. He was deaf.

He flirted with the prospect of the damage being permanent, but forced the thought away before it could fester. He had enough to worry about. Getting out of this blasted ravine, for one. Doing so without being ambushed, for another.

Slowly, so as not to bring on another round of vomiting, Draco pushed himself to his feet. He staggered his first two steps. Catching himself on the boulder, he waited a few minutes before shuffling further. He made it a few more yards when he spotted Hermione. He raised his wand, though he could not hold seem to hold it steady, and approached slowly.

Her ankle was twisted at an odd angle and both of her ears were bleeding. Worse, she was breathing. Normally, respiration was an encouraging sign, but seeing as Draco had been resigned to kill her only a few minutes ago, he felt significantly disheartened by the development.

The opportunity couldn't have been better for him, though. Despite her blood, Hermione was a terrific witch. In a fair fight, she might be able to beat him. This was about as unfair as the circumstances could get; he was practically _guaranteed _a win.

It'd be a kinder way to go, certainly, than her future would be if she were caught. The Dark Lord would kill her immediately. Or maybe he would give her to Greyback's pack as a plaything. He chuffed – better off dead, then.

He took careful aim, positioning his wand so that the curse would strike right above her heart.

He'd be doing her a favor.

The words were there, nestled snugly between his tongue and teeth.

Better off dead, certainly.

_Why did she hesitate_?

The thought lingered, then stuck. Draco swore and lowered his wand. He had already made several mistakes tonight. What was one more? He scanned the ravine edges quickly. There was a large, smoking crater near to where they had been standing. He didn't see anyone else, but it was only a matter of time before someone appeared. The explosion had to have come from somewhere.

He stormed away, looking at her one last time over his shoulder. The sight of her there, bleeding and broken with the forest debris, stopped him. Why did she have to look so pathetic?

Why did he bloody _hesitate_?

He growled and turned back. With a sharp swish-and-flick, he levitated her, charming her body to follow his to the cliff. He deposited her on the first nettle-free patch of ground he could find and started gathering brush to keep them covered. Then he saw a niche in the cliff face.

He lit his wand and ventured inside cautiously. It was about ten feet deep, three across, and, for Draco's six-foot frame, an uncomfortable five feet tall. From the stench, he reckoned it was most commonly used as an animal den.

Still, it was the best they had. After few Scourgifys, Draco levitated Hermione across the threshold. Within a few minutes, he constructed a blind to cover the mouth of their hideout. From the outside, it convincingly resembled a thick collection of creeper vines. From the inside, it was semi-transparent and let in fresh air and light.

Backed uncomfortably against the stone wall, Draco's had little visibility of the ravine. He kept watch for a while nevertheless. Then Hermione stirred, and he found himself studying her instead.

War had changed her, stealing her curves and putting angles in their place. She was hard and lean now. A fighter. There was more stubbornness in the lines around her mouth, more worry in the furrows of her forehead and less laughter around her eyes, even unconscious. The sight made him wonder how he had changed. Did he look as unhappy and drawn as she did? Did he look worse?

She came back to awareness slowly. The twitch of her finger, her eye, her lip. Then a sigh, her head turning toward him. A groan, a cough, what he imagined to be a curse. He sat through it silently, hand gripping his wand, his entire body tense. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at the ceiling of their shelter in confusion. Then she looked at him.

Her eyes widened. Her mouth moved; Draco could only imagine the oaths emanating from it. He didn't move an inch as her confusion turned to fear, which turned to anger then rage. He remained calm, doing nothing more than staring at her, until she reached for her wand.

His hand darted from his side, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to the floor. Their gazes locked and Draco experienced an unsettling wave of power: his fingers wrapped all the way around her wrist, which felt entirely too fragile within his strong grasp. Slowly, he brought his hand to her ear. She flinched, but his touch lasted only long enough for him to gather her blood onto his fingertips. Her eyes widened as he showed them to her. Then, he turned his head and touched the blood caked beneath his own ear. When he next looked at her, confusion had turned to comprehension.

He nodded once and released her wrist, giving her room to sit up. She did so gingerly, wincing as she shifted her leg. She took her wand – Draco tensed again – and pointed it at the wall. She moved it slowly to the right.

'I think I broke my ankle.' Her uneven writing lasted ten seconds before she wiped it away. 'I don't think I can bind it on my own.'

There was a longer pause this time. Obviously, she was waiting for him to say something. He stared at her, uncomprehending.

'Do you know the spell to splint it?' she continued.

He passed his wand over the wall to write his reply. 'No.'

'It's _Ferula_. Watch my mouth to get the pronunciation.'

Reluctantly, he stared at her lips. It took him several tries to mimic the shape of her words, but it worked. She paled as the bandages snapped into place. She nodded gratefully at him, and he looked away. When he looked back up again, she was still staring at him.

'What happened?'

The writing on the wall surprised him; he hadn't expected her to want to carry on conversation.

'Explosion,' he replied. 'We were blasted down into this ravine.' He paused, then finished, somewhat lamely, with, 'I found a cave.'

'What do we do now?'

'Buggered if I know.'

'Should we leave?'

'You suicidal?' He accompanied the question with a pair of raised eyebrows, which earned him a glare. 'Can't hear a thing, can't keep my balance, can't keep my bloody lunch down. How the devil am I going to dodge spells?'

'Well, we can't stay here.'

'_We_? There is no _we_, Granger,' he wrote with a snap of his wrist. 'And be my guest.' He gestured with his free hand toward the blind. 'I'm not stopping you.'

Her chest rose and fell sharply; she was getting huffy. She didn't move, however, which made Draco felt oddly victorious.

'When should we leave?'

Draco thought for a moment, then smirked. 'Never.'

She rolled her eyes, as if running weren't even an option. For her, Draco supposed, it wasn't. She was tied to her friends. Even if she weren't, would she leave if she could? Would she run if it meant an easier life?

Draco studied her for a moment longer, then decided no. Hermione wouldn't run. Not if there was the slightest chance of fixing a broken system. And that, he decided, was the difference between them.

'What if we're found?'

He assumed she meant by Death Eaters. 'You can cast a Disillusionment Charm, I'm sure.'

'You won't-'

He erased her words before she could even finish the question, substituting it with one of his own.

'Would you?'

She bit her lip. He had the strangest urge to tell her to stop.

'You're better than them.'

The words disappeared quickly, but Draco was sure he'd seen them. One glance at her red cheeks confirmed it. She kept her eyes on the wall as she moved her wand.

'Harry told us about the Astronomy Tower. You lowered your wand.'

Draco felt like he had been punched in the gut. That night had changed so much. If only, if only… How often had he thought that way, dreamt of the differences, only to wake up to the cold, cruel reality?

'Doesn't matter.' His words even _looked_ bitter, all small and sharp. 'Too late now.'

'It's not.'

'Don't be stupid.'

'Come with me.'

There was no mistaking his sudden exhale as a burst of incredulous laughter. He started to get up but stopped as the word 'Please' appeared. He stilled. More words followed, appearing quicker and more sloppily than before, as if she was thinking too fast for her wand.

'I'll vouch for you. That will get you through the Order's door, at least. Harry understands, so that will help, too. You'll have to convince Moody, of course. And Kingsley. And McGonagall. It won't be easy, but with time, they would accept you, I'm sure of it. Think of what an asset you could be! There are things you know that we don't. How they work, his plans, locations, safe houses, defenses-'

He cut her off. 'I have obligations.'

She caught on quickly. 'Your family, of course. We would-'

'If he found out I'd deserted-'

'We can fake your death.' He raised an eyebrow. 'It's not that hard.'

'You've done it before?'

She hesitated before answering. 'Join me and find out. We can keep you safe, and we can make considerations for your parents.'

'Stop it.'

'Malfoy, I-'

'I said stop!' She lowered her wand immediately and looked at him with a hurt expression, which he did his best to ignore. He was angry, and frustrated that she couldn't see why. 'You can't guarantee any of these things. He'll find out.'

'He won't.'

'He _will_. And when he does, things will be even worse than they are now.'

'You don't know that.'

'I know enough to make an educated guess. I'm surprised you don't see that, too. It's just…' He stumbled for the right word. 'It's just _naïve_.'

She erased the words immediately and her next words were written angrily. 'This is the second opportunity you've had to change things for the better.'

'It's none of your fucking business what I do with my life.'

'Are you really going to let it pass again?'

'Stay out of it.'

With a sharp flick of her wand, their conversation disappeared, and they sat in angry silence until the sunlight had mostly disappeared and the temperature had dropped. A short while after that, her writing reappeared.

'We have to move.'

'I said I wouldn't stop you.'

'I don't think I can go on my own.'

He glared at her, an expression she met with equal ferocity. 'Looks like you're staying, then.'

She huffed. 'I'm sending a Patronus.'

Draco shrugged apathetically, but watched closely as she closed her eyes. After a minute, her mouth moved, and a jet of silver shot from her wand and out of the cave.

'How did you do that?'

She looked askance at him. 'Summon a Patronus?'

He nodded.

'You've never learned?'

He glared at her. 'If I had, do you think I'd ask?'

Hermione frowned, then wrote the instructions out. 'The spell is _Expecto Patronum_. You have to think of a happy memory for it to work. Something that will fill you to bursting with joy.'

She must have guessed that his laugh was derisive. She glared at him and started to move her wand when a streak of silver zoomed through the blind. It materialized as a small dog. Hermione smiled gratefully.

'Won't be long now,' she wrote. 'Better switch positions and Disillusion yourself.'

They did so awkwardly, with Draco lifting himself over Hermione while she clumsily scooted herself nearer to the entrance. Draco rapped himself over the head with his wand as she was settling herself. She glanced toward the back of the cave and nodded.

'Looks good,' she wrote.

They sat in silence for a while, then another dog Patronus appeared. Hermione sent out her own in reply.

'What's your memory?' he wrote suddenly.

She looked in his direction with wide eyes, which shone despite the darkness. It was a minute before she replied. 'That's personal.'

Another small dog appeared before them. 'They're close,' she wrote. 'I'm going to go. Are you sure you don't want-'

He wiped her words away, grateful she couldn't read the regret in his eyes.

'Good luck, Granger.'

She sighed and shook her head. 'You too, Malfoy.' She eased her way out of the cave, and Draco put his head on his arms wishing, not for the first time, that his life were different.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

Hermione downed her third Pepper-Up in as many hours and propped up the text she was reading to better catch the light. Ever since acquiring the diadem deep in the Albanian wilds, their missions had nearly come to a standstill. They either destroyed or located all of the Horcruxes. There was no need to search anymore.

Riddle's diary, the Gaunt ring, Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, Voldemort's pet snake, Nagini. All destroyed.

The speck of soul still residing in Voldemort's own body. Still alive, if Voldemort could be described as such, but at least they knew where it was.

And Voldemort's final, unintentional Horcrux, Harry Potter.

He had been locked down ever since the diadem's destruction and wasn't allowed out again until Hermione finished her task. She had to find a way to kill Voldemort without killing Harry, or a way to bring Harry back after they killed each other.

She hadn't succeeded at either yet. She didn't _not_ succeed often, and she hated that _this_ – the information that would determine the fate of her best friend – was what was stumping her. Failure (she hated the word, but why call a Kneazle anything other than what it was?) was getting to her.

It was getting to everyone, actually. Ron was taking it the worst. Not only did he have to come to terms with the fact that his best friend's soul wasn't his alone, but also that he might be losing said best friend in the very near future, sacrificed to the Greater Good without a moment's hesitation on the part of Harry or the Order.

Apparently, telling Ron that he wasn't the only one who would miss Harry was a mistake, as was hinting that, if he was so concerned, he might consider opening a book or two to hunt for a solution.

Things had been souring between them for months and, with this latest blunder, recovery didn't look likely. Hermione didn't know if it was the lack of sleep, the preoccupation with Harry's life, her desensitization to Ron's pouting, or a combination of all three, but she honestly couldn't bring herself to be bothered with him. There were more important things happening than his feelings. If he couldn't see that, then she didn't want to see _him_, and that was that.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. She hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, but she felt so close to a breakthrough. On the next page, in the chapter, in the next book. She had to keep going. She had to figure it out…

Her eyes just began to droop when the door to her bedroom flew open, banging against the wall. Instantly alert, Hermione jumped out of her seat and pulled her wand.

It was Ron. "You'll need that," he said grimly. "They're attacking Mungo's. We have to go, now."

She had started lacing her boots before he reached 'attacking.' By the time he finished, she was following him out the door to the Floo. A large group had already gathered, talking tensely amongst themselves. At the fore of the room stood the Order's leader, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Ron split off to go talk to Lupin. Ginny took his place. Hermione shot her a surprised look. One of Harry's stipulations was that, if he couldn't go into the field, neither could Ginny. Ginny read the question in Hermione's eyes immediately. "He doesn't control me," she snapped. "And neither do you."

"Wasn't trying to," Hermione responded mildly. And that settled it. Hermione knew it wasn't feasible for the Order to cater to Harry's every whim, and Ginny was a powerful witch. If she was willing to go, then they would use her, regardless of what anyone said. Even if that anyone was the key to _everyone's _survival.

"Mungo's was supposed to be a safe zone," Ginny continued, tying back her red hair. "They have people there, too."

"Death Eaters must've decided they're disposable," said Seamus. "Just surprised it took this long."

"This is a defensive mission," Kingsley's voice boomed, silencing the chatter. "Our main objective is to keep the patients safe. Intelligence says that they've limited their attack to the ground floor. This gives them an easy exit. Make sure they take it. You lot," he gestured to a group of older witches and wizards, as well as Ron, "guard the lifts and the stairwells. Let's keep them contained." He portioned off the rest of the room into sections using glowing lines from his wand. "You and you – sweep the east and west corridors. Stay grouped up – there's safety in numbers. Trust in your partner's shield, but don't let it be your only defense. Remember to check your corners. Group four," he pointed to the group with Hermione, "hold the reception area. Don't let anyone in and make sure it's clear for exit.

"I repeat: this is a _defensive_ mission. Loss of life needs to be minimal. Take prisoners if it's safe, but if doing so puts you in a compromising position, _stand down_. Each of you is too valuable to lose. Am I understood?"

The entire group replied, "Yes, sir," in a hearty chorus, and then they were off, speeding through the Floo network. Hermione's group was one of the last to leave, and she stepped into the hearth without looking back.

St. Mungo's was normally full of people with misplaced limbs, staunched wounds, and transfigurations gone wrong, and therefore operated near critical levels of chaos. So nothing could have prepared her for the complete and utter desolation that met her eyes when she arrived.

"Where is everyone?" whispered Ginny. "We didn't leave too long after the other groups. We should at least be able to see them."

"Or hear them," muttered Seamus. "There's _nothing_."

He was right. The Death Eater raids they were accustomed to were consistently noisy, with wild displays of fire and light and concussive explosions. The silence was more than merely suspicious; it was menacing.

Tonks, the senior Auror of their group, stepped forward. "I'll take point," she offered, sounding calmer than the yellowish-green shade of her hair led Hermione to believe. "Ginny and Seamus, you take flank. Hermione, the rear. We'll make for those columns and pick people off from there." The columns were marble and looked thick enough to hide two people comfortably. They would indeed make good cover. However, they were almost twenty feet away, which seemed like a mile in the strange silence.

"Ready?"

They fell into the positions naturally and, at Tonks's signal, moved forward. The silence persisted for several feet. Hermione was just beginning to think that they would make it unmolested when there was a loud bang from their right.

"DOWN!"

In battle, the rule was 'Obey or die.' Hermione chose 'obey' every time and did not hesitate to hit the floor. Tonks's shield sparked as it was barraged with curses and hexes, but held strong as several people in black robes rushed past. Each leapt into the Floo with an unintelligible shout. Tonks held the shield for a moment longer, then let it down.

"Behind the columns. Now." Her words were clipped, her tone stern. "Ginny, you're with Hermione. Seamus and I will take this other column. I want one of you watching the entrance and another watching the halls. Yell if you see anything. Shields up."

They took their positions, Hermione eyeing the reception area while Ginny watched the hallway. There were a few minutes of stillness, then a scream and the smell of burning to the right. Hermione averted her watch for just long enough to see three more Death Eaters launch themselves into the Floo. One was still trying to put out the fire at his hem.

"What do you suppose that was?" asked Ginny softly.

"Seamus," answered Hermione. Very faintly, she could hear Tonks's scolding.

"Want to switch directions? Keep our eyes fresh?"

"Yeah, alright. On three. One… Two… Three!"

As soon as Hermione pivoted, the world turned dark. It wasn't a simple, 'the lights went out' kind of dark. It was thick and heavy, an artificial darkness that was more familiar than it should have been.

"_Stupefy_."

There was a loud thud, and Hermione felt Ginny collapse beside her. She stifled a gasp and dropped to the floor, edging away from her position behind the pillar. Then an arm wrapped around her, pulling her up.

"Let me go, you fu-"

"_Silencio_."

She fumed and, though blind and silenced, did not go quietly. She managed to land an elbow to her captor's gut and a hard stomp on his foot. The former earned a gasp, the latter a curse. Then a door closed, the darkness was gone, and before her – looking very disgruntled – was Draco Malfoy.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, in one smooth motion, Hermione lifted his curse and put her wand to his throat.

"What did you do?" she asked, being sure to enunciate very clearly.

"Repaid the favor," he replied. "Didn't fancy you'd want yourself killed today." He looked far too calm for having a wand jabbing his Adam's apple. His grey eyes surveyed her patiently, as if waiting for her to figure it out. He did not have to wait long.

"That was your darkness powder."

He nodded.

"I thought Fred and George had stopped selling it," she scowled. Draco smirked. "What happened to Tonks and Seamus?"

He shrugged. "My team wasn't coming from that direction."

"You stunned Ginny?"

"Should I have killed her instead?"

"Yes." He raised his eyebrows. "Just like you should be killing me."

His pale pink lips curled into a grin. It looked almost gentle, though that was probably just a trick of the light. "And you should have turned me over to the Order six months ago," he said.

She paused for a moment, trying to make sense of what was going on, but her thoughts were still too jumbled to decipher. Instead, she asked, "Why?"

He chuffed. "If I asked you the same question, what would you say?"

Hermione glared at him for a moment, then eased her wand away from his throat.

"What happened today?"

He looked around the room they were in, as did Hermione. It was an office supply closet: reams of parchment, quills of all different sizes, five colors of ink, and an assortment of clips, folders, and labels piled up around them. He twirled his wand around his head in a short circle, and at Hermione's questioning look, simply said, "Soundproofing."

"Why are the Death Eaters here?" she asked again. "This was supposed to be neutral ground."

"The Dark Lord is getting anxious. He thought this would draw Potter out. Apparently he was wrong."

"Harry's not going anywhere," she repeated sternly.

Draco nodded. "I thought not."

"Will you relay the message?"

"I'll express my doubts," he hedged, and Hermione nodded. If the Death Eaters knew Draco was talking to her, they would kill him without a second thought. His Slytherin subtlety would be crucial. "Though I don't know how much good it will do."

Hermione snorted. "Better than nothing."

They were both silent for a while. A stack of parchment creaked as Draco leaned on it.

"When is this attack going to end?"

He flicked his wrist to glance at an expensive-looking watch. "Few more minutes should do it. The Dark Lord didn't want us to be here any longer than necessary. Once he learns Potter's not coming, he'll call us back."

"Some have already left," she noted.

Draco looked at her with hooded eyes. "They won't be back. This war's gone on too long," he said quietly. "People are losing faith. Losing patience."

Hermione's heart sped up. She tried to keep her breathing even. "How many does he have left?"

"Several thousand. There will be less when our next few missions fail."

Her eyes widened, and she paused. He watched her wait, a smile appearing at the right hand corner of his mouth. It teased her, making his normally sneering lips strangely appealing. She stared at them, still uncomprehending.

"Ask me," he said quietly. Hermione's heart stuttered, and she looked from his lips to his eyes. They were darker than she had thought, flecked with blue near his irises. "All you have to do is ask."

So she did. "_Where_?"

And he told her. He told her about the plan to release an Acromantula the size of a tiger into a Muggle shopping center Thursday next. He told her about the small scouting parties that roamed Diagon Alley every night at one a.m. Most importantly, he told her about the attack they were planning at a Muggle football match next month.

Hermione took all of it in, memorizing each detail. The information wasn't terribly specific, and all of it was subject to change, but there were dates and possible locations, which was more than they had before Draco had dragged her into the closet.

It was almost _too_ much.

She narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on her wand. "What do you want in return?"

Draco smirked, and the tension she felt dissipated. _There _was the boy she remembered. "A full pardon for me if this ends favorably, clemency for my parents, and your trust." He answered so quickly that Hermione wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly.

"I can't guarantee the pardon or the clemency." He must have been expecting that answer because he did no more than frown and nod. "But I will speak for you, for what it's worth," Hermione continued, feeling guilty. "I'll try my best to make sure you're treated fairly."

"And your trust?"

Hermione took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes again. They looked clear and decisive. They were the eyes of a man who knew what he was doing.

But it was Malfoy. He had tormented her and her friends for years. He had given himself to Voldemort when he was just sixteen. He had lied, cheated, manipulated, and killed for his own gain. If this offer were an attempt to spy for Voldemort, the repercussions for the Order would be devastating. Trusting him was a terrible risk, and it wasn't one she wanted to take.

Then he said, "Please."

Suddenly, it was like they were in the cave together, damaged, lost, and so unsure of who the other really was. She had read the wary fascination in his eyes, and it had mirrored her own until he confessed to pulling her out of harm's way.

He hadn't needed to save her. In fact, it would've been better for him to have captured or killed her. But he had let her go. Even today, he had protected her and, in a slightly backwards way, Ginny.

For some unfathomable reason, Draco Malfoy wanted to keep her alive.

And now, he was asking her for help.

That was the problem, unfortunately. If he had agreed to Hermione's initial offer, the Order would've been able to protect him. To control him, actually, and that was a condition with which Hermione was comfortable. With this offer, Draco would have complete freedom. She would simply have to trust that he could associate with some of the most dangerous people in the United Kingdom and not betray her or be discovered.

But, if he could pull it off, hundreds – possibly thousands – of innocent lives could be spared.

Please.

"You have it," she said firmly.

Draco nodded once, then clutched his left arm and winced in pain. Hermione grimaced, knowing what had caused it.

"Only tell who you have to, Granger."

"Of course."

"Good. I'll be seeing you."

"Okay."

Draco gripped the doorknob and was about to leave when Hermione caught his hand in her own. He froze and glanced back at her. She felt her cheeks color. "Thank you… Draco," she said with a small squeeze. "Really."

His mouth gaped for a moment, and he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Then he shut his jaw with a snap, nodded one last time, threw the door open, and rushed away. Hermione watched him go, her mind racing. The hand that had touched his skin was still warm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **I suggest looking up the black-winged kite. It's truly striking!

**Part Three**

The enthusiasm of the crowd rivaled that of the Quidditch World Cup match before Hermione's fourth year. All around her, faceless Muggles waved flags and clapped their hands. Their mouths gaped with delight, even as chunks of Arsenal Stadium fell down around them. The lights, which had stood tall and shining before the match was set to begin, rained sparks and glass down upon the once award-winning football pitch. Whole chunks of seating had been ripped from the concrete to be used as projectiles and shields alike. Many of the torn sections still cheered, albeit weakly.

Hermione ducked behind one of the larger, more resilient sections, hoping that the noise and movement of the remaining illusion would hide her from any unwelcome followers. She remained for a minute, silent and still, then was off again, headed south.

It was uncanny, sneaking through the wreckage of battle amidst cheering and applause, but the adulation of a well-made illusion was infinitely better than the screams of pain and terror that would've occurred had _actual_ Muggles been here tonight.

The illusion hadn't even been the difficult part. With just one Firecall to a few well-placed Ministry contacts, the Arsenal football match was rescheduled for next Sunday, the stadium was charmed to be temporarily Muggle-repellant, and a team of world-class Charms experts were deployed to construct a crowd in the exact shades of red and white that were the trademark of one of London's most popular Premier League teams.

Convincing Kingsley that her information was good, on the other hand? That had been a trial, involving both Veritaserum and some poorly performed Legilimency. Both had been highly unpleasant, but the sight of thousands of dead Muggles would've been infinitely worse.

The truth of it was, though, that Hermione had done very little to prevent those deaths. The real hero tonight – and she never thought she'd be saying these words – was Draco Malfoy.

Now if only she could find him and let him know.

She ducked behind another chunk of destroyed stadium, waited yet another minute, then began moving again. It was more out of force of habit than actual need that she was moving so cautiously. The battle had started at the south end of the stadium and was now finishing up at the north. Some of the Death Eaters had scarpered when they realized the crowd wasn't real. Many had stayed, but since the Order had had so much prior noticed of the attack, they were able to rig the stadium with traps. The strategy had been to herd the oblivious Death Eaters into the rigged areas and let the traps do the rest.

Though there had been intense intervals of spellcasting, the Order had been in good shape when she left. If it hadn't been, Hermione could never have convinced herself to go. But her objective tonight, apart from assisting with the battle, was to rendezvous with Draco. Kingsley thought he would be in the middle of the action, but Hermione knew him better than that. Draco's sense of self-preservation was as sharp as ever; he would be as far away from the fighting as possible. If she wanted to see him, then that's where she had to be.

She only hoped he didn't leave before she got the chance to talk to him.

Hermione had thought a lot over the past month about what she would say to him tonight, but hadn't been able to come up with much of a script. She was a firm believer in actions speaking louder than words, and Draco's actions practically shouted that he was no longer content to be a pawn. He wasn't the boy she had known at Hogwarts. Wasn't the coward who had bullied anyone weaker than him. He was in control now, ready to take responsibility, stand up for himself, and make his own decisions. She had always thought that Draco was nothing more than wasted potential. She was glad that he had finally discovered his own worth.

After a few more minutes of crouching and sprinting, she reached the stadium's southern entrance. There was no sign of him. She crept out from the shadow of a broken food stand and stood in the open for a minute, trying to decide what to do.

Then, a low whistle came from her left. She drew her wand and rolled behind the rubble. A streak of silver joined her a moment later. She watched in awe as it coalesced into a raptor. Its eyes and wings were dark silver and the rest of its body seemed to glow. All she could do was stare: this was an exceptionally powerful Patronus.

It was also exceptionally annoyed. The bird ruffled its feathers and regarded her with an exasperated expression.

"Don't be stupid, Granger," came Draco's faint voice. She could hear the amusement in his tone and rolled her eyes. Without another word, the bird flapped its wings and disappeared, turning back into the distinctive, silvery wisp of a traveling Patronus.

Hermione followed quickly, wand still held at the ready. She had to laugh as the Patronus led her into, of all places, the woman's loo.

Draco was leaning against the far wall, idly twirling his wand in his hands. He straightened and stopped when he saw her. The hidden smile in the right corner of his mouth reappeared; Hermione couldn't stop herself from grinning.

"You have a beautiful Patronus," she blurted. Draco raised an eyebrow. That wasn't at all how she had wanted to begin. "I mean, it's great," she recovered hastily. "Powerful. How… How long did it take?"

"A few weeks," he said smoothly, his eyes alight. He held out his arm and the Patronus settled there naturally, as if it had been doing so for much longer than a week. He smiled at it warmly, and Hermione felt her heart skip. "I did some research," he continued. "It's a black-winged kite."

"I've never seen anything like it."

"Neither had I," he chuckled. "I'm… I'm glad you like it." With a twirl of his wand, the bird dissolved. It seemed to take her calm mood with it.

"You didn't tell me he was bringing werewolves." Her tone was more accusatory than she meant it to be. Draco's casualness faded immediately.

"Yes, you're quite welcome for the tip," he said sourly. "So glad I could put my life on the line for you and save thousands of Muggles and not even get a bloody _thank you_ for my troubles."

The barb struck home, but Hermione refused to cave. "We weren't prepared for it."

"You seemed to do just fine."

"Because we got _lucky_," she huffed, crossing her arms. "No one was bitten this time, but next time?"

"There won't _be_ a next time," Draco stated. He leveled a challenging look at her. She met it for a moment, but curiosity got the better of her.

"What do you mean?"

He smiled smugly; Hermione nearly regretted asking. "The Dark Lord promised those curs all the defenseless Muggle children they could eat. Can you imagine their fury when the only humans they could bite were very angry, very full-grown wizards?"

She could; the thought made her smile. "So they're out?"

"Completely. That brings his grand total of supports down to nearly twelve hundred, maybe less. What few vampire covens deigned to help will probably be deserting soon, too."

She laughed in quiet delight and leaned against a sink. "That's fantastic news, Draco. Really. We couldn't have done it without you."

"I know."

"Thank you," she said earnestly. "This is… This is amazing news."

She stared at the stall across from her, taking a moment to imagine Lupin's face when she told him that the werewolves were no longer fighting for Voldemort.

"Has there been any suspicion on your end?" she asked.

Draco shrugged. "Not yet. Mother says I've been distracted, but she's always been keen."

"Do you want out?"

He barked a laugh. "You would sacrifice your source?"

She tried and failed not to feel insulted. "You're not just a _source_, Draco," she reprimanded sternly. "You're…" Well, what was he, exactly? A friend? A colleague? A comrade?

"No, Granger," he said, saving her the task of deciding. "I think I'll stay. Can't leave a job half finished, after all."

"Well, be careful, then. If there's any chance you might be discovered, you have to let me know immediately, alright?"

"Fine."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You promise?"

"Merlin, Granger. Would you like me to make the Vow?"

She ignored his sarcasm and grinned. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. What have you got for me this time?"

"Nothing much," he sighed. "Vague plans for Muggle baiting. There's been talk of going into Hogwarts as soon as term starts, but with the werewolves gone, that will probably be rethought. I… I don't know when I'll be able to see you next." It was probably her imagination, but it sounded like the prospect depressed him.

"I'm glad you mentioned that," she smiled. "Kingsley and I have been giving this some thought. It's not very safe for us to be meeting up in the middle of battle, is it? What if we're seen, or overheard, or-"

"Killed?"

"Yes. Or if you're in trouble. Well, Lupin volunteered his old house for us to use as a rendezvous point." She dug around in her pocket and withdrew a small, polished stone. It hung on a silver chain. "You took Ancient Runes, right?"

"Yes."

"And you remember the designation for dates and times?"

He looked at her as if he had never heard a more foolish question.

"Sorry, of course you do," she said quickly, enthusiasm undiminished. "I've cast a Protean Charm on these. We can use them to coordinate meeting times. You can change the date and time by speaking to it in the Ancient Language. Whenever the runes change, the stone will get hot. Then, when you're ready to leave, all you have to do to is say _Portus domus Remus_. It will take you directly to the house."

"I'm impressed," he said, reaching for it. "But what if I don't fancy a necklace?"

He was joking, of course, but Hermione grinned and held out her right hand. On her ring finger was a stylish looking ring set with a dark stone that matched the one in Draco's palm.

"It's an IntelliChain," she explained. "A Weasley invention. It can be anything you want it to be."

He regarded the chain warily, rightly suspicious of any item which bore the name 'Weasley.' After a moment, he slid the chain over the ring finger of his right hand. "A ring's fine," he said. "Inconspicuous. If the Dark Lord asks, I can say it's an heirloom. Merlin knows my family has enough of them."

"Perfect. I'm glad you like it."

Awkward silence fell between them once again. He and Hermione both stared at the ring on his finger, and Hermione couldn't help feeling as if they had crossed some sort of barrier. With these rings, they would be able to communicate despite the distance and their circumstances. He would be able to ask for her help if he ever needed it, and she would be able to ask for his. It was hardly the traditional use, but it felt intimate all the same. A wave of heat rushed through her body at the thought, making her fidget.

Draco cleared his throat. "Well, I should be off."

"Of course. I'll see you…" She glanced at her ring.

"Soon," Draco finished. Hermione remained against the sink to watch him leave. He paused for a moment when he reached her, and his right hand flinched toward her. Her heart pounded, her eyes widened. Every nerve in her fingers anticipated his touch. But he thought better of it at the last moment and passed her by, leaving her tense and confused.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

Draco glanced again at the enchanted ring, at once pleased and surprised to find that Hermione had not countered the meeting time he proposed. They had been rescheduling all week, often at the last minute.

At first, Draco had thought nothing of it. Hermione had responsibilities to the Order, after all, and they were a busy bunch, what with meeting the Death Eaters spell for spell at every raid. After the fifth time, however, he started to wonder if maybe she was avoiding him. Maybe she had noticed that, ever since St. Mungo's, his actions hadn't been motivated by pure selfishness.

Maybe she had noticed the way he felt about her.

Hermione knowing the truth wouldn't be the worst disaster to have ever befallen humankind. Awkward, yes, and possibly the end of the strange working relationship, but there was always the chance of her reciprocating, too. It was a slim chance; Draco doubted it was even within the realm of possibilities concerning the two of them. Still, it was a nice dream.

Some days, he liked to believe it was more than just a fantasy. Some days, he even believed there was _evidence_ of it being more. He wasn't blind, after all, and Hermione – for all her cunning – was still a bloody Gryffindor. Meaning, of course, that she had about as much subtlety as a rampaging Hippogriff. All those glances when she thought he wasn't looking, all those innocent touches to his arms, shoulders, and – Merlin help him – _legs_. She'd cooked him dinner that one time they'd met later in the day, and she had brought him a new wand holster when his old one finally snapped.

Hell, she'd even started telling him about the goings-on at the Order. Not much, mind: Draco was still a Death Eater and nothing but the death of either Voldemort or himself could ever change that. But he did know about Horcruxes. He didn't know how many there were, or how many the Order had destroyed, but Hermione had explained the basics, which answered many of his unspoken questions.

He also knew that Potter was becoming frustrated with being left out of the loop. Hermione's reports concerning what Draco told her were extremely private. Potter knew they happened, but couldn't wheedle information out of anyone involved.

As it should be, of course. Scarhead wouldn't fancy his golden girl getting friendly with a fiend like Draco, even if it was in exchange for information. It made his meetings with Hermione that much sweeter, if he was being honest. That, and the fact that the Weasel didn't know about them. Draco had no idea if Hermione and the ginger oaf were still an item or not, but on the off chance that they were, Draco very much enjoyed being part of the wedge that could drive them apart.

Weasley could never deserve her, anyway.

He smirked, then glanced away from his plate to his hand simply to assure himself that the runes hadn't changed. Narcissa cleared her throat. Draco knew instantly that she'd noticed. She noticed _everything_. He hated it. It was like he didn't have any secrets from her, which was an extremely unsettling idea considering that his survival hinged on keeping Hermione absolutely and entirely secret.

Draco shot a quick glance at Lucius, but he hadn't noticed. His father hadn't noticed much of anything lately. He was still suffering from some side effects of the Dark Lord's latest version of punishment – sensory deprivation. Draco couldn't help but remember the day he and Hermione had first met on the battlefield, deafened and bleeding. He repressed a shudder, which Narcissa undoubtedly noticed, and turned back to pushing food around on his plate. At least they hadn't been blinded as Lucius had been.

A few minutes of silence elapsed, then Lucius sent down his fork. "I will be in my study," he announced. Slowly, he rose to his feet, relying on his cane much more than he used to. Draco and Narcissa watched his slow exit carefully. Once she was sure he was out of hearing range, she turned to watch Draco.

"Who is it?"

Draco's stomach fluttered in momentary panic, but he kept it off his face. "Who is who?"

"The girl who wears the brother to that ring." She jutted her delicate chin toward his hand, which he clenched and drew into his lap. Not very subtle, he realized too late.

Narcissa pursed her lips. "An exchange of rings is not a game for children, Draco."

"Good thing I'm not a child."

"Not a _child_," Narcissa spat contemptuously. "A _fool_, then, just like your father. If you believe no one else has seen-"

"Who else _could_? Father is half-blind and there hasn't been a meeting for weeks," Draco snapped. "Besides, it's nothing. A trinket Grandfather Abraxas gave me when I was a boy."

"That you just decided to begin wearing within the last month."

"No time like the present," he said smoothly.

Her blue eyes narrowed. Draco could hear her teeth grinding. She knew it was a lie, and she knew that Draco knew it was a lie, but the hounds of Hades wouldn't tear the truth from him. Not if it meant Hermione's safety.

She took a long draught of wine and set down her goblet carefully. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Draco. When what is asked of you exceeds the capacity of what you can give, _let go_. There's no sense believing in an impossible reality."

Draco's stomach plummeted to his knees. There was no stopping the blood draining from his face. He always thought she suspected something, but her tone implied more than mere conjecture. How much did she actually know, and how much danger were he and Hermione in because of it? He refused to believe that Narcissa would leak information that could lead to further familial disgrace or Draco's death, but information could be stolen much faster than it could be told.

It was a lot to consider with precious little time to do it. He stopped himself from glancing at the ring, drained his goblet, then stood and left without a word.

Though Narcissa's suspicions were certainly cause for concern, her opinions made no difference to him. This was a first for Draco and probably counted as irrefutable evidence that he had, in fact, grown up. He thought he'd reached that point when he killed Luna Lovegood, but he had been mistaken. Her death had changed him, certainly, but it hadn't matured him. Taking a life couldn't do that. It wasn't powerful enough.

But saving a life? There was power in that. Power enough to redirect a meandering existence and change the course of a war. The instant he made the decision to pull Hermione into that cave, the hollowness within him had filled. There was more to life than just himself. He understood that now.

Once he warded and soundproofed his bedroom, he spoke into the ring and let it take him away, even though it meant being a full thirty minutes early.

Lupin's ramshackle cottage was on the outskirts of a small town in the south of Britain. Draco had scorned it at first, much as he had scorned the man himself for his ragged appearance. But after a few meetings, the cottage started to grow on him. It did have a certain charm – there was a small couch before a large hearth, a modest yet easy to navigate kitchen, a serviceable loo, and a quaint bedroom. It was a cozy space and, though he visited infrequently, it felt like a second home to him.

He set a kettle on – as was their tradition – and waited. Suddenly, the air near the hearth glowed blue. Draco drew his wand out of habit and pointed it at the space. A moment later, Hermione materialized. She was sobbing.

Protocol was to exchange several sets of identifying questions, have a spot of tea, then get down to business. In light of the circumstances, Draco decided to abandon convention. He lowered his wand and, unsure of what to do instead, gaped at her. She noticed him a moment later and gasped in surprise. She fumbled for her wand. It shot golden sparks as it fell to the floor, which just made her cry harder.

"I thought…" she hiccoughed, bending down to retrieve her wand. "I mean, I didn't think… You're… You're early." She swiped at her eyes, but they were beyond hope, far too red and puffy to disguise without magic and a fair amount of cosmetics.

"I had a bit of a row with my mother. What happened to you?"

The question started another round of sobbing, and Hermione sank down onto the couch gracelessly. Draco joined her. Gathering his courage, he put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him immediately and cried on his shoulder for several minutes as he stroked her hair.

"Are you in danger?" he asked gently, trying not to make the question sound as urgent as he felt it should be.

"No."

He swallowed his fear. "Am _I_?"

"No, Draco… It's Ginny. She's… She's dead."

His stomach clenched. "How? I hadn't heard anything."

"We've started doing routine sweeps of Diagon Alley," she said thickly, blotting away tears with the hem of her sleeve. "It was Ginny's turn to do the rounds. She went with Seamus. It was going fine, but the Death Eaters were running a bit behind. They… They met up outside of Fortescue's old place. There was… There was a fight."

He didn't need to hear any more. "I'm sorry, Hermione." And he meant it. He remembered all too clearly when Crabbe died, and Goyle soon after. It hadn't been easy, and he hadn't handled it well. He imagined Hermione and Ginny had been closer than he, Crabbe, and Goyle had ever been.

"Ron said it was my fault," Hermione whispered into his neck. "He said that I let her go. He said that if I had been looking out for her properly, like a friend should, this never would've happened. And Harry…" She choked back a sob. "Harry said I didn't care. That I was heartless, and wasn't thinking of him, and was intentionally going behind his back… I had to leave. I couldn't be near them. I just… I couldn't."

"You don't believe them."

Hermione shrugged. "I never tried to keep her out of the field, despite Harry's wishes."

"It was never his decision to make."

"But if I had volunteered instead… If I had prepared her better… If I had-"

"There was nothing you could have done."

She pushed away from him to look him in the eyes. "How do you know?" she whispered. "How do you know there was nothing?"

"Because people die all the time," he said gently. "Tonight, it just happened to be someone you knew."

"That doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I know."

"I wish this war was over."

"I know."

"Draco…"

He cupped her cheek, using his thumb to brush away her tears. Then her lips were on his. Her kiss was not timid or shy. It was like her: self-assured, strong, and surprising. He knew she was vulnerable, knew he should push her away, but her hands were too insistent and her taste too intoxicating. Draco shoved the guilt away and sunk into the feeling, gathering her onto his lap. He twined one hand in her hair as the other found the hem of her shirt. She moaned into his mouth as his palm cupped her breast, steadying herself on his shoulders.

Suddenly, she broke away from him. Her eyes were dark with grief and clouded with lust; the sight was mesmerizing.

"Long ago, you wondered why I didn't turn you in." Her voice was throaty, and Draco interrupted her with a deep kiss.

"I know why," he gasped when she pulled away again. "You believed in me."

"No," she said with a smile, their noses touching. "It was because _you_ believed in _me_."

It was all over for him then. He kissed her again. This time, they didn't stop.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five**

It wouldn't be fair to say that Hermione was estranged from Harry and Ron. The three of them had been through so much together that she doubted those years could ever really be forgotten. It would be fair to say, however, that this was the angriest they'd ever been at each other. It was by far the longest they'd ever gone without speaking.

It wasn't for a lack of effort on Hermione's part. She wanted to talk to them. She _needed_ to talk to them. Ginny's death had torn her apart and no one could understand like Harry and Ron. But the boys were a unified front, completely impenetrable. The special bond they had which Hermione had never been able to replicate was in full force.

So she sought comfort the only place she could: with Draco.

Their rendezvous at Lupin's cottage started to lengthen. Where they once just made tea, they now shared a meal. Then they'd make love. Only afterwards, while lying safe and warm in each other's arms, would they discuss business.

For about a month, there was nothing new to report. Draco hadn't heard of any forays into the field, though there were always whispers of something big coming.

One day in mid-October, the whispers coalesced into plans.

"They're going to Hogwarts."

Hermione lifted herself onto one elbow to look at him better. "When?"

"Two weeks."

She furrowed her brow, which Draco smoothed with a light touch. "Hogwarts is supposed to be neutral ground, like St. Mungo's."

"Doesn't matter. The Dark Lord's forces are decimated. He sees this as his last stand. If attacking Hogwarts doesn't draw Scarhead out, he'll probably go looking for the wanker himself."

Hermione smiled despite the derogatory names. "He's panicking. We'll have the upper hand if we can dictate when and where."

"Precisely," said Draco, kissing her lightly. "It's the beginning of the end. We did it."

"_You_ did it," she corrected, running her fingers through his hair. "None of this would've been possible if you hadn't pulled me into that cave."

"And to think I almost left you there."

She scoffed at his teasing. "You wouldn't have gotten very far."

"You think I would've turned back?" he asked challengingly.

"You _did_ turn back," she said gently, punctuating the statement with a kiss. "You proved what kind of man you were that day, Draco. I couldn't have trusted you otherwise."

He nuzzled her cheek, planting small kisses along her neck, but she shifted so that he was kissing her lips instead. Just when it started getting serious, Hermione pulled herself away. "I need to get back."

Draco groaned and held her tightly. "What if I refuse to let you go?"

"Well, I could always bring you with me," she offered lightly.

The effect on him was immediate. He dropped his arms, allowing her to extricate herself. "We've talked about this."

"No, I've talked," she corrected. "You haven't done me the courtesy of listening."

He scowled and pushed himself away. "There's no need to listen because it's not going to happen."

"You've done enough, Draco. It's time to let go."

His grey eyes turned stormy. "It's not your place to tell me what to do and what not to do, Granger."

"I wasn't telling you what to do. I'm telling you the truth. It's not your responsibility any longer."

"You don't know when the attack will be," he groused, swinging his legs off the bed. "You don't know how many will be there."

"We have people inside Hogwarts who will contact us at the first sign of trouble, and we can arrange ways into the castle."

He shook his head and stepped into his pants. "It won't be enough."

"It will be! And you said yourself that your mother knows."

"I said she _suspects_. There's a difference."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Barely. You should know better than most that suspicion is all it takes to get killed."

"She won't tell anyone," he growled, tugging on his shirt.

"She doesn't have to," she snarled right back.

They glared at each other from across the bed. His nostrils flared and something shifted in his eyes.

"I don't suppose there's any reason to see you before Hogwarts," he said tersely.

Hermione felt like she had been slapped in the face. She closed her gaping mouth and recovered quickly.

"No," she snapped. "I suppose there isn't." She yanked on her trousers and jumper, but Draco left the room before she could button up. By the time she made it to the bedroom door, Draco had transported away.

He hadn't even said goodbye.

Hermione dashed away her tears angrily. "Get a grip, Hermione. Get a _grip_!" She fixed her hair in the bathroom mirror, made sure her eyes were clear, and then transported herself back to Grimmauld Place. Kingsley, Moody, and Lupin were already waiting for her.

"Hogwarts," she said simply. "Two weeks. He's getting desperate."

Kingsley leaned back in his chair. Moody stood to pace unevenly. Lupin leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.

"What do you mean, desperate?"

"His army is just a fraction of what it was. Malfoy thinks this will be his last attempt to draw Harry out publically. If this isn't successful, he'll come looking for us."

The three men were silent for a long moment. Then Lupin stood. He smiled and laid his hands on Hermione's shoulders. "Thank you, Hermione. I know this can't have been easy for you, putting yourself in danger like you have been. But if what you've told us is true…"

"Malfoy seemed confident," Hermione confirmed. "There's no reason to doubt him."

"Then you've done us a great service, Ms Granger," said Kingsley. "It won't be forgotten."

"Thank you, sir," she said thickly. With a last comforting squeeze, Lupin dropped his hands and let her leave. She closed the door behind her and gasped as she turned toward the stairwell. Harry stood there with his arms crossed, staring at the door in deep contemplation.

"Harry?"

He lifted his gaze from the floor to look at her; his green eyes were glassy with grief. "Ginny never should have died," he said softly, "but I never should have blamed you for it."

Tears sprung to her eyes, and Hermione threw her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. "I… I needed you so much," she stuttered. "And I couldn't bear it when you wouldn't… When you and Ron thought…"

He held her tightly, making gentle sounds to calm her. "I know, I know. We were just so…" He trailed off, and then removed her from his shoulder so that they could look eye to eye. "You'll never have to worry about that again," he said firmly. "I promise."

Hermione placed her hand on his cheek and grinned feebly. Despite Harry's vow, she knew they would fight again; that was simply the nature of their friendship. But the love which existed between them – between all three of them – would never allow those fights to separate them for long. Each and every reconciliation proved that.

With a final squeeze, he let her go, and they parted ways: him to the kitchen, and she to her room, where she muffled her sobs with a pillow.

She spent the next two weeks immersed in books, continuing her research. It wasn't as terrible as it had once been. Not since she'd found something.

She'd managed to get her hands on a collection of Dark texts, the oldest of the bunch completely written in runes. It had taken her ages to translate, but once she did, she discovered the name of a potion that could temporarily guard the soul. Unfortunately, the potion didn't seem to exist outside of that particular text, and the recipe for it hadn't been provided. Still, she hadn't checked everywhere, and there were several other books to translate. Despite coming up against yet another obstacle, her hope was renewed.

Sooner than she would have liked, however, she twisted and turned through a maze of chimneys, headed to Hogwarts to meet Voldemort head-on once again. She stepped out of the fire and into the warmth of the Gryffindor common room. It was just as she remembered it.

Kinglsey held up his hands and the substantial crowd quieted, listening intently to the plan for tonight. For maximum loss of life, the Death Eaters would most likely target the Great Hall first. The strategy, therefore, was to clear the students out and keep the Death Eaters confined there. There would be five teams approaching from five different directions, with scouts and snipers taking strategic positions from above.

It was a relatively standard plan of attack – both easy to understand and execute. But Hermione could barely focus on it. She felt jittery without Ginny next to her, and Ron kept shooting furtive glances at the boy's staircase. She looked too and saw nothing. There was no time to investigate further, however. It was time to fight.

The battle passed by in a blur, as it always did. Hermione kept no record of who she cursed or who she shielded. It didn't matter. She was still moving. Still fighting. She dashed past a mountain of armor, desperate to regroup with her unit before either of those things changed.

When she finally reached the hall, what she saw stopped her dead.

Harry Potter stood opposite Lord Voldemort. Both had their wands raised, and the air around them was thick with ozone and magic. The hall was entirely silent, then Harry's face went slack. Then his arms. Then his knees. And Hermione watched in dawning terror as her friend collapsed, his wand clattering against the marble floor.

The entire room seemed to heave, and she stumbled backward a step. It didn't feel real. It didn't make sense. Bodies didn't fall that slowly. Lives did not end that quietly. A years-long war did not end so quickly.

She stared at the scene in confusion, waiting. It was a bluff, surely. A trick. Because what just happened was not even possible. Harry wasn't even supposed to be here tonight. He shouldn't even have _known_ about tonight! Yes, it was someone else, surely. Some other Order member with unruly black hair and round glasses. Harry was at Grimmauld Place. Harry was alive. Harry was _safe_.

A sound that couldn't possibly have been human ripped through the silence. She turned to look, and was amazed to see that it had been Ron. Ron, who had fallen to his knees, bleeding and horrorstruck. Ron, who had kept glancing at the boy's staircase in the common room, as if he were waiting. As if he were expecting…

Voldemort turned to him, a sick look of jubilation twisting his reptilian features. He raised his wand, aimed it.

Hers was not the only Killing Curse that burned through the air towards the maniac in black robes. Neither was hers the only one which connected. It was Voldemort's turn to fall, and fall he did, just as gracefully as Harry had.

The hall was still for a long moment. Not a sound could be heard. Barely a breath was drawn.

Then, Voldemort's back arched.

The room heaved again, and this time took Hermione's composure with it. Finally, she understood the feeling of dread.

He was still alive.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her before Voldemort could get to his knees. The sights and smells death were replaced by those of wooden walls, moth-eaten curtains, and Draco.

She heaved in a great breath, which came out as a chest-cracking sob. The heaving continued, breath after breath, and Hermione was vaguely aware of being guided to her knees. There was pressure on her back, a pair of hands pressed against her chest, and a vial tilted against her lips.

She swallowed the potion without caring what it was, sputtering upon the inhale. After a moment, her breathing calmed enough for her to speak. Her mind, however, still spun with panic.

"What happened?" she croaked. Draco's hands were on her shoulders, bracing her up so that she didn't fall.

"Potter… Potter is dead," he stammered. "And we have to go."

Hermione furrowed her brow and shook her head.

"No," she said confidently. "No, Harry… He's not. He's at Grimmauld Place. He's safe. Harry's safe. And we-"

"We have to _go_," Draco repeated. "We have to leave right now. Before they come searching for us."

Why wasn't he making _sense_?

"They?"

"Yes," he snapped, "and it won't take them long. So _let's go_."

Then, it clicked.

_Go_.

_Leave_.

_Run_.

He wanted them to run.

"Yes." Had she said that aloud? "We have to."

"The others… Draco, the others! We have to go back. Ron, Seamus, Tonks…"

"Listen, we-"

She shoved away from him, snatched her wand, and struggled to her feet. Draco yanked her off-balance before she could Disapparate.

"What are you _doing_?" she seethed. "Let me go!"

His eyes were the color of steel as glared at her, his hands too tight around her upper arms.

"No. You aren't thinking clearly right now. You don't understand-"

"I understand plenty! It's you who doesn't-"

"Then what will happen if we go back, Hermione?" His voice was low and insistent. "What will happen?"

"We can save-"

"_Wrong_!" he barked, shaking her solidly. "_Think_! Use your _head_! What happened? What _will_ happen?"

She shook her head again, but it wasn't enough to make Draco's questions disappear.

Reality began to settle in, but the tears wouldn't come. She was glad for it. There was no time for tears. Not yet.

"How did he do it?"

"The Dark Lord has been waging this war for years," he replied firmly, his grip on her arms softening. "He's never stopped killing."

"He… He made more?"

"Yes. And he has all the power of ancient pure-blood families and mansions to help him protect them."

Hermione could only nod. The news that Voldemort had made more Horcruxes was as astonishing as it was horrifying. Splitting his soul into seven was unthinkable, but paring it down further was downright _taboo_. She had no idea how many more there were, what they looked like, where they were hidden.

"But you know," she said suddenly, lifting her head. Draco's eyes widened in confusion. "You _know_," she repeated firmly. "You know where they are! You can get us to the homes, through the enchantments, and into the vaults! We could-"

"_We_, Hermione?" Her mouth shut with an audible click. "_We_ are two people who the Dark Lord will want killed on sight. We'll never even get close to the pure-blood vaults."

"But you're a spy! They believe you! They _trust_ you!"

Draco winced. "Not after today, they don't."

All the hope she felt racing through her disappeared. "What… What did you do?"

He shrugged in unconvincing casualness. "Might have blocked a curse or two from hitting Weasley and Longbottom."

Hermione fought the urge to sob, never more proud and amazed at the man who knelt before her. She didn't know if she'd ever find the words to tell him so.

"So what do we do?" she asked tremulously.

He hesitated for a moment. "We can fly."

Her breath hitched. "What?"

"We can _fly_, Hermione." He moved closer to her and clutched her hands in his own. His grey eyes were bright and imploring. "My family has property across the globe. Property the Dark Lord can't possibly know about. We can start there, then fly past the evening star and straight on through sunrise. We'll go somewhere he can never find us. Somewhere completely out of his reach. We can _live_, Hermione. _We can fly_."

It was too early to let herself feel the consequences of Draco's proposal, but there they were. Survival required her to leave everything and everyone she had ever known and loved. Survival required her to do the untenable – to run instead of fight.

"We… We'll come back," she said quietly. "When we're ready. When we've learned more. Draco…"

He drew her close, and his chest shuddered as he pressed his cheek into her hair. "Yes." His voice shook. "Someday, we'll come back."

But Hermione understood the truth: someday was just another word for never. Finally, she began to cry.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Six**

Draco wanted nothing more than to cradle her in his arms until her tears dissipated. He wanted to whisper to her, to make her promises he fully intended to keep, to give her some sort of hope that their future together would not be one comprised solely of paranoia and fear.

But there was no time to waste on dreams. The Death Eaters would surely be doing their best to torture whatever Order members they managed to capture. Though only three people knew about the cottage, they were three highly important people. The Death Eaters would do anything to take them alive.

So instead, he took her by the hand and led her to the porch. He summoned a pair of old broomsticks, tethered them together, and helped her onto one of them. Then he looked back at her, sobbing and shivering in the chill October wind, and hated that ithis/i was their ending.

"This isn't the end," Hermione said suddenly.

It was difficult to believe her. But then, it had been difficult to believe that she had been sincere when she offered him protection in the cave. It had been difficult to believe that she wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her. It had been difficult to believe that she trusted him.

It was difficult to believe in anything that hadn't happened yet, but the determination he saw in her eyes made it easier for him to nod.

Without another word, they kicked off, and Draco steered them east, straight toward their new beginning.

**The End**


End file.
